Star's Fall
by shitsumon
Summary: Harry receives a letter from Hogwarts to leave the Dursleys immediately, for the Deatheaters are about to attack. {hiatus}
1. Time to Leave

Disclaimer:  I'm just a poor undergraduate student.  I have $6.22 on me.  Don't sue!  ^_^'

Authors Notes:

Hey there!  I know I've been saying that I'd post something soon on ff.net, and here it is!  Hopefully I've done a decent job of this.  I enjoy receiving critiques and compliments *preens* but any flames will be used to embarrass the neighbors.

Please let me know of all the grammatical errors that are in this.  I don't have a beta, and for some reason I'm terrible at checking my own work . . .

Enjoy.  That's an order.

Chapter 1:

Harry looked up and took a step back in order to gain a better view of the leaves.  Their sheer numbers were astounding, no matter where he looked.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky.  The neighbors were out enjoying the uncommon weather, out on picnics and cookouts and just being happy.  Uncle Vernon was at work.  So of course Harry was doing lawn work on Aunt Petunia's orders.  She was watching soap operas in the kitchen.  He had trimmed the hedges, weeded the garden, and mowed the lawn just that morning.  Now he had to clean the leaves from the gutter.

He sighed.  "Well, at least I saved the raking for last."

Harry leaned the ladder he had gotten earlier from the shed against the side of the perfectly ordinary house of the Dursley family, at Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey, and proceeded to pull muddy leaves from the gutter.  Every sign that this would be a long afternoon was evident.  And he worked.

Harry finished with the leaf mucking in a record two hours.  However, Dudley returned with his friend, Piers Polkiss, from the video arcade just in time to catch Harry exit the shed with a rake.  He had just put away the ladder and was getting ready to finish the lawn.

Dudley and Piers glanced at each other and grinned evilly.  Harry's hopes for a peaceful encounter with the delinquents were shattered at that moment because Dudley waddled over to say, "Hey, Freak.  You've been slacking off, just look at the mess you've left."  He gestured at the still unraked lawn with his pudgy hand.  "I bet you're not going to get anything to eat for a week if you keep this up!"  Giving each other high fives, Dudley and Piers worked their way to the front door, then entered.

Harry sighed.  He knew he had to get to work or face Aunt Petunia's wrath and some unwanted and unhealthy fasting.  Working methodically, Harry raked the lawn at a frantic pace, stopping only to bag the debris.  Given the sheer size of the lawn, this was no easy task for a single person to do.  Finally, Harry tied the last bag, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and returned the rake to the shed.  Upon locking the shed, he turned to go inside the house.

Aunt Petunia stood on the front porch glaring.

"What do you think you're doing?"  She screeched, eying him in annoyance.

Harry pondered his choices.  He could stay meek and silent, and let her dish out any punishment she desired.  Or he could answer her question.  Given his Griffindor background, it was not a difficult decision.  However, there was no reason for him to behave rashly.  Politeness was the key.  "I've finished the lawn work, Aunt Petunia."

Aunt Petunia looked miffed at Harry's gall to actually respond to her question, though if truth be told she would have looked miffed if he hadn't answered.  She glared at the boy, then studied the results of his day.  Apparently his work passed muster, and she let him into the spotless house.  Harry had just cleaned it the day before.

"Clean yourself up!  And don't you dare dirty the carpet!"  Of course, his doing the chores correctly was no reason to ease up on him.

Harry took off his shoes, then trudged up the stairs.  He was happy to come inside; it had seemed to become progressively hotter outside as the day wore by.  It felt good to cool down in a shady environment.  His permission to clean off just made things better.

"Hurry up, boy!"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Later that evening, Harry could be found doing his homework in his room.  He had already closed his bedroom door in the hopes that his relatives wouldn't hear his quill scratching against his parchment.  The Dursleys were already in bed, sleeping the night away.

Harry was not an ordinary fourteen year old.  In fact, he was as abnormal as it was possible to be.  Harry was a wizard, much to the shame of the Dursley family.  They were terrified that someday someone would discover Harry's abnormality.

Harry's quill was frolicking over the parchment in a cheerful manner.  He had already finished sixteen of the required twenty-four inches for his History of Magic essay.  He paused as a thought occurred to him.

'How's Binns supposed to read this?'  He mused while he rested his hand.  Professor Binns was a ghost, and ghosts could not pick up solid objects.  But the homework was given in scroll form, all rolled up.  So how did the professor open the scrolls to grade them?  This thought came to Harry from time to time, and he had yet to come up with a satisfactory answer.  He shrugged it off and continued with the essay.  After all, the night was still young.

Two hours later, Harry fanned the ink to finish drying it, then rolled the completed essay into a tight roll, sealed it, and placed it under the loose floorboard along with his textbook, ink, and quill.  He kept his wand and invisibility cloak there, as well.

Harry was quite fond of his wand.  It was very precious to him, the focal point of his magic for spell casting.  Made of holly with a phoenix feather core, and eleven inches long, it was an attractive specimen of its kind.  It only had one fault, one that Harry tried at all costs to ignore.

There was an extremely powerful dark wizard running loose in the magical world.  Most witches and wizards feared even to utter his name, though most thought him dead.  Voldemort's wand contained a feather from the same phoenix as Harry's.  So, in essence, the two wands were brothers.  'But that's not my wand's fault!'

Harry glanced at the cage in the corner of his room.  He had let his owl, Hedwig, out for the evening once the Dursleys had gone to bed.  Since he would have more chores to do the next day, and Hedwig didn't seem to be coming back any time soon, Harry turned off his flashlight and went to bed.  He'd leave the window open for her.

As Harry started to doze off, he wondered about his friends.  Would his best friend Ron Weasley ever get his owl properly trained?  Harry hoped so, though it seemed highly unlikely at this late date.  He had given a thousand galleons to the Weasley twins.  Would they remember to buy Ron some new dress robes?  He also hoped that by becoming the twins' chief financier, he wouldn't become the target of any more pranks courtesy of Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

Harry's other best friend, Hermione Granger, was another topic for consideration.  He knew she hadn't been able to go to Bulgaria as she had hoped.  When Victor Krum, Bulgarian seeker extraordinaire, had chosen to be just friends, any vacation plans were put on indefinite hold.  Such a pity, especially since Hermione had really wanted to go.

Now Harry's thought turned to his godfather.  Sirius Black was an escaped convict, only he wasn't guilty of the crimes he was sentenced for.  In fact, he was innocent of all the crimes he had been accused of.  However, he was guilty of one thing the Ministry of Magic didn't know about; Sirius was an illegal animagus.  He could become a large black dog at will.

Sirius was a great man.  He was loyal to a fault, especially when it came to the well being of his godson.  During the previous school year, Sirius had kept an eye on Harry by posing as a lovable stray, living on rats for the most part.  'Now that's love!'  Harry found it nice to have someone who wanted to take care of him, someone who wouldn't look down his or her nose in disgust.  Not like the Dursleys.

Harry sighed.  Another day had ended, and it was time to sleep.  In only a couple more weeks, he'd turn fifteen.  July 31 was a special day for that, and also because that was the day he got his letter from Hogwarts along with his train ticket.  Now he had to put up with the Dursleys just a little longer.  Harry fell asleep.

The one staring at him left.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sun streamed its way into the bedroom.  Unlike yesterday, there were a few clouds in the sky, but not nearly enough to detract from the day.  Another perfect day.

Almost.

"Get up.  Get up now!"  Aunt Petunia barked.  For such a weak woman, she sure pulled off the drill sergeant voice quite well.  "I can't hear you.  Get out here now!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Don't you take that tone with me!"

Harry had put on his glasses, and as he opened the door to his bedroom he replied, "Of course not, Aunt Petunia."

Harry was working on being extra docile that summer.  The Dursleys had yet to forgive him for what happened the previous summer.  When the Weasleys had come by floo powder to take Harry to the Quidditch World Cup, they had inadvertently left the Dursleys living room, and the Dursleys themselves, covered in soot from the fireplace.  The Ton Tongue Toffee incident hadn't improved matters, either.

On the plus side, Dudley was finally losing weight since he had developed the habit of checking food for safety before actually eating it.

Harry came downstairs and went to the kitchen.  He received a major shock that morning because Dudley was there eating breakfast.  Now, Dudley eating was the norm.  However, his getting up before ten during the summer was all but unheard of.  Harry stood in the doorway to take in this bit of information.

"Get out of the way, boy."  Uncle Vernon didn't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation.  Harry sat at his chair, his mouth still hanging partway open.  Vernon got to his seat and started to read the newspaper.  Apparently, this was supposed to be just another day.

Aunt Petunia finished cutting up the grapefruit, and gave each person at the table a quarter, as well as a bowl of granola.  The nurse at Dudley's school had expanded the list of acceptable foods a touch since Dudley had started to lose weight.  Harry noted wryly that his own portion was, as always, far smaller than the others.

The sound of mail being pushed into the door slot came into the kitchen.  "Boy. . ."  Harry had darted out of his seat before his uncle could get the sentence out.  He sped his way down the hall, picked up the envelopes, and returned in record time.  "Damn boy's getting slow."  Vernon grumbled.

Harry abandoned the remains of his breakfast and climbed the stairs to his room.

Hedwig had returned sometime during breakfast, along with a tawny brown owl, both with letters.  Harry turned to Hedwig first.  She stuck out her leg and calmly let him take off the letter, then fluttered to her cage for some well-earned sleep.

The letter was from Hermione.  It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope your summer is going better than mine.  Just last week I was doing my essay for Potions while doing receptionist work at my parents' clinic.  I was called up to assist a patient, and a child took my textbook!  If that's not bad enough, he markered all over it, tore up the pages, and generally ruined the text.  My parents have a busy schedule at the moment since people want their children's teeth checked during the holiday.  They won't be able to take me to Diagon Alley until a week and a half before we have to go to Hogwarts.  I can't finish my homework!_

Harry shook his head, recognizing the fact that Hermione would consider the most important item on her summer agenda.  Though, given what she had said, she had an honest reason to be upset.  The Hogwarts Potions Master, Professor Snape, hated the members of Griffindor House, and proved it at the end of the school year by assigning them a nasty four-foot essay on Dark Potions and their potential antidotes.  And Snape would never accept late work.

Harry continued reading.

Ron and I have been maintaining correspondence since the end of the school year.  Did you know that Fred and George have managed to gather quite a sum of money?  I do hope they didn't do anything illegal to get it.  I would just hate to see any member of the Weasley family in trouble with the law.

Since I'm not going to Bulgaria, I'm spending the summer with my parents here in England.  So I was wondering if you could send me your potions textbook once you've finished the homework?  It would be greatly appreciated, as my sources are rather limited.

_I hope the muggles are treating you well._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry stared thoughtfully at the letter in his hands.  He had completed the potions assignment during the second week of the holiday.  He wanted to get it done while the information was still fresh in his head.  This way, he wouldn't have it hanging over his head throughout the summer.

He tore off a piece of parchment from his personal stash.

Hermione 

_Here's my book.  Treat it well._

_I miss you and Ron._

_Harry_

Harry had never been much of a letter writer.  He preferred to talk to people face to face.  So his return letter would have to be abrupt.  This meant that they'd have more to talk about on the Hogwarts Express.

He turned to face his owl and managed to wake her.  Hedwig yawned, then glared a bit, but stretched out her leg so Harry could tie the book and letter on securely.  Once they were both assured that everything was stable, she flew out of the still open window.  She probably wouldn't be back for another four or five days.

A soft hoot reminded Harry of the presence of the second owl, which had been glaring impatiently for quite some time.  Harry removed the letter, seeing the Hogwarts seal on the envelope.  The owl ruffled his feathers importantly, the sped his way out the window.

Harry started to read the contents of the envelope, then almost dropped the letter in shock.

Mr. Harry Potter 

_The Deatheaters know your location, and will attack tonight.  Inform your relatives and leave immediately.  Take the Knight Bus to the Hogshead in Hogsmead. Be inconspicuous.   Someone you recognize will escort you to Hogwarts._

_Leave now._

_Minerva McGonnagal_

_Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts_

Harry rushed out of his room down the stairs into the living room, yelling for the Dursleys to meet him.  Uncle Vernon barged into the room huffing away, intent upon making his nephew pay for making such an unseemly racket.

"Boy!  What do you think you're doing?"

Harry interrupted before his uncle could start to rant.  "You need to leave _now_.  Don't pack anything, just—"

"How dare you order me around, you ungrateful brat?  I—"

"What do you want?" snarled Aunt Petunia, who had just arrived.

"The brat—"

"Shut up!  A bunch of evil wizards a coming, so you need to leave.  Now."  Harry butted in, all the while eying his relatives in a daunting manner.

This statement left Harry's aunt and uncle staring at their only nephew slack jawed.  However, as Harry turned to find Dudley and warn him Vernon started yelling.

"How dare you tell your kind where we live?  I won't stand for your abomination in my house!"

As Vernon took a breath to restart his tirade, Aunt Petunia started screeching at the top of her lungs.  "Of course your friends are evil, they're freaks!  You ungrateful brat—"

Harry left the living room in search of his cousin.  He didn't have to look far, as Dudley was listening to the conversation from the kitchen.  Dudley shook in terror as Harry stared at him.  When Vernon started booming out obscenities at him, Harry came out of his trance and said, "Well?  What are you waiting for?  Get a move on.  It's not safe here!"

Dudley eyed his cousin, then nodded and bounded up the stairs to his room to gather his things.  Harry sighed in relief, then tensed at the idea of convincing his aunt and uncle in time.  They were still yelling at him.

"Shut the hell up!"  Harry stalked back towards his now silent relatives.  In a calmer tone, he stated, "The evil wizards enjoy killing muggles such as yourselves.  They are really after me, but you'd be considered fair game.  Leave.  Go visit Aunt Marge.  Go somewhere.  I'll be going somewhere else, but I'll get a message to you when it's safe."

Harry stepped over to the cupboard under the stairs and opened its door.  After dragging out his trunk.  He dashed up the stairs, and looked in on Dudley.  The obese boy was trying to stuff his television into his backpack, and was failing.  "Just pack clothes, your toothbrush and toothpaste, and some food.  Those things will only get you killed."

Dudley gazed at him with glassy eyes, and for once did as Harry said without a hint of retaliatory intentions.  Satisfied, Harry went to his room.  There he gathered the rest of his things from the loose floorboard and picked up Hedwig's cage.

He ignored his relatives, who were finally doing as they were told, and took out his wand while tossing his things into it.  Rushing through the house, gathering what they believed were necessary, the Dursleys prepared to leave.

Harry dragged his now completely full trunk out the door, still holding the cage.  He glanced back once and said in a loud voice, "Hurry up.  You're out of time."  Then he left his home of thirteen and a half years.

Harry drug his trunk three blocks, gaining occasional stares from onlookers, until the fourteen year old had found an acceptable alleyway.  There he waited until anyone still watching would get bored.  Thankfully, it was still reasonably early in the morning, so most had other things on their minds.

Once he was certain no one was observing his actions, Harry raised his wand and called the Knight Bus.  It took exactly twenty-three seconds to arrive, and Harry let out a sigh of relief.  Stan Turnpike was still the usher.

"By golly, it's 'Arry Potter!"

"I need a lift in a hurry." Replied Harry as he and Stan hefted the heavy trunk into the bus.  Harry gave his directions once he was settled in and the bus had left the alley.

The one staring at him nodded, then vanished.


	2. Dancing Dandelion

Disclaimer:  I own the dancing flowers.  Everything else belongs to the Goddess Rowling.  Don't ask.

Thank you to those who reviewed.  It's nice to be appreciated.

What is the correct spelling of McGonagall's last name?  Inquiring minds need to know.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The Knight Bus took almost seven hours to get to Hogwarts, even though there were hardly any passengers.  However, Stan seemed to enjoy the privilege of being able to tell others that the Boy-Who-Lived was on board.  'So much for inconspicuous.'

It took three and a half hours for someone to mention the articles Rita Skeeter wrote about him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  They didn't even bother to keep their voices down.

"Oh, look dear.  It's the Boy-Who-Went-Insane."

"Isn't he the one that tried to convince the Ministry that You-Know-Who's back?"

"Definitely got something wrong in the head."

"You can't expect too much from him.  He'd just broken up with that muggle born."

"Such a pity . . ."

"Who's that?"  This last was asked by what appeared to be a four-year-old boy.  The witch he was with was busy discussing the many faults of the Boy-Who-Lived, so he wandered over to Harry.  "Who're you?"

Harry, who had been purposefully ignoring the other passengers, was surprised when the young voice shook him out of his thoughts.  "What?"

"Who are you?" 

"I'm Harry.  What's your name?"

"Mum doesn't like you."  Apparently, the child did not see any reason to answer the question.

Harry looked up at the others, all of who were swapping rumors about him.  "No, she doesn't."

"Why?"

"Because she thinks I'm a liar."

"Why?"

"Because I told people that Voldemort's returned."

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"The dead."

The boy's mouth made a small "o."  Then he asked something that caught the attention of his mother.  "Who's Voldie-more?"

"Jeffrey!"  The short woman dragged the boy to the other side of the Knight Bus.  For such a dainty looking lady, she could sure give a mean glare.  Jeffrey complained a bit about the rough treatment, but was distracted by a bauble his mother took out of her magically expanded pocket for him to play with.

Harry got the hint and kept quiet.

People spoke about him for the rest of the trip, but Jeffrey was the only one to actually speak to him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was well into the afternoon when the Knight Bus landed in Hogsmead, missing the Hogshead's trashcans by centimeters.  Harry didn't bother to say goodbye to Stan, he just gathered his things and walked straight into the pub to find his escort.

The Hogshead was dimly lit, and Harry was hard pressed to locate Madam Rosmerta.  Once he had her attention, she brought him to an unobtrusive table a few feet to the left of the door.  There he was given yet another shock to top off his day.

Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, waving his arm excitedly at Harry and flashing his thousand-watt smile at anyone who looked his way.

Harry felt the extreme need to just turn around and run away.  Lockhart noticed his hesitation and exclaimed, "Harry, Harry, Harry!  Come join me in a butterbeer!"

Recovering slightly from his surprise, Harry felt obligated to sit opposite of Lockhart, figuring that Dumbledore must have had a good reason for sending the fraud.  Lockhart looked a little older than he had during Harry's second year at Hogwarts.  That was to be expected since the last time Harry checked, Lockhart was a permanent resident of St. Mungo's, the hospital of the wizarding world.  That place was almost as feared as Azkaban.  Even an hour there could dampen the spirits of the world's most cheerful person.  But Lockhart didn't seem to have improved any over the last two and a half years.  He was still smarmy, boisterous, and far too narcissistic for Harry's taste.  

After a couple of minutes, Madame Rosmerta came over with two bottles of butterbeer.  "If you need anything, just call."  With an adoring smile at the man, she left.  Harry felt the need to gag.

"So, Harry, I hear you've left home."

'No shit.  I'm here, aren't I.' Harry wisely refrained from saying anything.

"Now, I'm not upset with what you and Mr. Weasley did to me.  You were only trying to save the life of Miss Weasley."  Lockhart smiled indulgently, "You couldn't have known that you'd only cause trouble.  You were just trying to make a name for yourself.  Why even the best of us make mistakes.  When you become as famous as me, you'll understand."

Harry sat stiffly in his seat, trying to figure out what exactly was going on.  Lockhart became famous for things he hadn't even done.  He uncovered larger-than-life stories of how certain people faced unbeatable odds and succeeded, then used_ obliviate_ to erase those people's memories of the situations.  Lockhart was only good at memory charms and looking pretty for the press.

"You're probably wondering why I, six time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ most charming smile award, came to take you to school.  It so happens that . . ."

At this point, Harry stopped paying attention.  'So this is why McGonagall didn't say who'd meet me.'  She had written that someone he'd know would take him to Hogwarts.  'If she'd named him, I would've run for the hills.'  If McGonagall wanted to keep Harry hidden, this was probably one of the worst ways to do it.  Lockhart was extremely flamboyant. 

" . . . So aren't you glad, Harry that I came to pick you up instead of Professor Snape?"  Lockhart looked as though he honestly wanted an answer.

Professor Snape . . .        

_A man cowered before a monster._

_"Such traitorous behavior must be rewarded, Severus.  Don't you agree?"_

_The man nodded jerkily.  Bloodstains ruined his clothing, and bruises and lesions covered his skin.  He looked extremely weak, and shouldn't have had the strength for even that minor motion._

_"You are still fighting me."  Then in an almost whisper, "Crucio."_

_The man writhed on the floor before Voldemort.  His lack of screams just made it more pitiful.  After a few moments, Voldemort stopped the spell.  "Invigorus!"_

_Now the man appeared stronger, to have recovered, though it didn't seem possible.  His injuries were still perfectly evident, and his eyes, now open, looked haunted.  He looked up at his tormentor, and stretched out his arm as if seeking mercy.  It was now obvious that the man had been both starved and beaten, his cheeks were sunken.  His arms bore burn marks._

_"Crucio."  The monster looked only mildly interested in the harm he was causing.  The man screamed._

"Harry.  Harry!"

Harry came to, curled up in his seat, his hand clutching his burning scar.  Shaking, he forced himself to relax.  Quite proud of his control, he asked, "What is it?" 

"You tensed up.  Is something wrong, my boy?"

Feeling somewhat offended by the endearment, Harry politely replied, "Just a headache."

"Are you sure, Harry my boy?  You were shaking . . ."

"It's a really bad headache."

Lockhart stayed quiet for all of forty seconds.  "Harry, Harry, Harry.  You need to become a better actor.  Make sure you live up to the standards of your audience.  If you take care of your fans, your fans will take care of you."

Harry sighed.  His 'headache' just got worse.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Lockhart had three more butterbeers before he staggered into a standing position.  "Harry," he slurred, "now is no' the time t'de-lay.  We need ta ge' ta Hoggie-warts, uh."  Weaving a bit, Lockhart made it to the fireplace.  He turned to face Harry, almost falling over in the process.

Harry groaned, knowing that this trip would involve floo powder, which was most definitely not his favorite way to travel.  Especially not with one of the most annoying men of all time.  Watching Lockhart, he came to a conclusion about his sobriety.  The former professor was drunk.  'Just how many butterbeers did this guy have?  I only saw four.'

Fortunately, the both managed to safely arrive in the Great Hall in Hogwarts.  Harry was still dragging his trunk, and Lockhart was still far from sober.

There was Professor Snape, wearing his usual black robes and the customary sneer.

"So glad our _celebrities_ could finally bring it upon themselves to arrive.  You are late."

Harry didn't bother arguing, as it would be a lost cause.  Lockhart was not so intelligent.  "Now see here *hic* Se'erus, we was jus' catchin' up on the pas' cu'pla years." he slurred.

Snape glared in disgust, then turned and stalked away, his robes sweeping out behind him impressively.  Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey soon replaced him.  Ignoring the fact that they had only just arrived, Lockhart complained, "Di' ya hear him!"  He leaned dangerously to the left.  "He says . . . we're late."

Pomfrey snorted, then forced a potion down Lockhart's throat.  This was an amusing sight.  It was not everyday that Harry got to see a diminutive medi-witch forcing a concoction into the mouth of the biggest fraud in Britain.  'I wish I had a camera.'  He smirked.

Dumbledore stared with his twinkling blue eyes at Harry.  "You received your letter nine hours ago.  Would you care to inform us of why you took so long to comply?"

"I was . . .detained, Professor."

"How so, Mr. Potter?"

Harry gave a concise description of his day, leaving out the rumor mill and Jeffrey from the Knight Bus, and emphasizing Lockhart's behavior.

"That's a lie!  Harry wanted to talk to me about public relations and how to improve his image."  The potion Pomfrey used had worked.  Lockhart was now sober.

"Really?"  McGonagall stepped into the Great Hall, fuming.  "Weren't you supposed to return here _immediately_ upon collecting Mr. Potter?" She was almost snarling at the man, who was now hiding behind Pomfrey.  Turning to Harry, McGonagall inquired, "And how are you?  Are you all right?"

Harry had just enough time to reply, "Yes, I'm fine."  Right then Pomfrey took over the questioning, also examining him for injuries.  Shaking her head, she tried to drag him up the stairs to the medical wing.  Harry was grateful when Dumbledore interrupted.

"Perhaps now is a good time for young Mr. Potter to hear about what has been happening recently.  If you would please follow me?"  Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily at Pomfrey's antics.  She didn't seem happy with the idea of her patient going another instant without medical checkups and treatments for whatever maladies he might have.

Harry accepted the headmaster's offer, and Pomfrey turned on Lockhart as he tried to make an escape.

Harry was glad to be back at school, the place he truly considered to be home.  He had missed the familiar moving characters in the paintings, along with all of the other odd things that reassured him that he was really back.  As they walked through the corridors, Dumbledore and Harry passed Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar, the ghosts for Griffindor and Hufflepuff Houses, respectively.  They were again discussing the fate of Peeves the Poltergeist.  Nick managed to say, "Great to see you so soon, Harry!" before the Friar dragged him back into the conversation.

Before Harry knew it, they had arrived.  Dumbledore proudly told the gargoyle "Pixie sticks!" and it jumped aside, revealing the rotating stairs.  Both Dumbledore and Harry rode the stairs to the door to the Office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.  One of the distinguishing features of this office was all of the moving portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses.  When both had settled into the appropriate chairs, they heard a fluttering sound.  

Fawkes the phoenix settled itself on Harry's knee, chirping away about something or other that was important to phoenixes.  Now, Harry was quite fond of this particular phoenix.  This phoenix had provided the feather that was the core of Harry's wand.

"So how have you been?" he asked while scratching Fawkes' head.  The bird just tilted its head and cooed.  After two or three minutes, it finally grew bored with the attention and returned to its perch, rustling contentedly.

"Lemon Drop?"  Dumbledore had been watching this exchange with great amusement.

"No, thank you." Harry declined.

"How do you like my new painting?"  Dumbledore gestured at the wall behind Harry, who turned to look.

"Er . . .wow.  That's just . . . wow.  Nice."  Harry didn't want to insult the man, but Dumbledore had the strangest taste in art.  'I always knew he was off his rocker.'

The painting portrayed bright, gaudy dancing flowers frolicking across the canvas.  Harry could identify violets, daisies, wild roses, and snapdragons. He even saw dandelions, of all things.  He couldn't decide what the rest were.  He watched as a dandelion roared at a hissing snapdragon while five roses line-danced.  The painting sort of reminded him of one of those American Disney movies.  Harry thought it was called _Fantasia_, but he could have been mistaken.  He didn't get to see many movies while growing up. 

A daisy decided it was tired, and rested in the bottom left corner of the large painting.  That was when the roaring dandelion decided to attack.  The snapdragon it had been fighting took this as a personal affront and tried to steal the daisy.  The poor flower didn't have a chance.  A violet was dancing ballet with a strange orange blossom.

Harry turned back around to face Dumbledore.

"The Deatheaters attacked earlier than expected."  The twinkle had greatly diminished in the headmaster's eyes.

"When."

"Just after noon.  They managed to capture your relatives."

"What happened?"  'Damn it!  I told them to leave!'

"The Dursleys were tortured.  Ministry aurors arrived in time to save their lives, though they were sent to St. Mungo's.  Your cousin is in critical condition."

"I see."

"The house has been demolished.  Obliviators had quite a job erasing the memories of the neighbors.  I believe that they are still searching for a few families."  Dumbledore paused.  "This will be the front page story tomorrow in the _Daily Prophet_."

"I see."  That seemed to be all Harry could say. 'Shit.'

"I will send a letter to the Weasley family to assure them that you are in good health.  I'm sure that they will be very worried."

"Thank you, sir.  About . . ."  'Snape . . .'

"Yes, Harry?"

"Never mind."  Then, "Sir, what's Lockhart doing here?"

"I'm glad you asked.  The excellent staff at St. Mungo's has determined that he is perfectly healthy, and that he has completely recovered from that unfortunate incident with Mr. Weasley's wand."  Dumbledore smiled as he gave this supposedly good news.

"Oh."  'That explains that.'

"Your belongings have already been sent to your dorm.  Perhaps now is a good time for you to go down to the kitchens.  I know of one house elf that has been quite interested in your well being."  Dumbledore smiled in this obvious dismissal.

"Yes, sir."  Harry nodded and turned to leave.  He admired the prancing flowers on his way out.

The one watching him followed in the shadows.


	3. Catnip and Fiddlesticks

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers:

Amerz

Lord R—I like the painting, too. ^^

Black Rose

kagemusha

Phoenix Tears Type 6

TheSilverLady

Geministarz—Hey, he's for comic relief.

Katy 999

Phoenix Flight

Tigergirl

WittchWay

t.a.g.

SatanSaphire

Sati—Borrow away!

Do you want to know who's watching Harry?  You'll just have to keep reading.  Oh, and send me your guesses!

Disclaimer:  I'm broke, I'm a college kid, and I'm barely old enough to vote in American elections.  Do you honestly think I could ever own Harry Potter?  ^^;

Please review.  My ego needs inflating.  All flames will be crumpled up and tossed to the samurai kitties to bat around.  They could use the entertainment. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry strolled his way down the corridor.  He had just finished dinner in the kitchens, and was on his way to the Griffindor common room.  Dobby the House Elf had been quite glad to see Harry, and had attempted to stuff him like a holiday turkey for nearly an hour.  And then Dobby insisted that he try some trifle.  Frankly, Harry was astounded that he could even walk.

Harry eventually made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, having only seen four empty suits of armor walk into a classroom.  Upon his arrival, Harry realized that he had a problem.

"Well, hurry up already and say the password."

"Er . . ."

"Well?"  The Fat Lady glared expectantly at the boy.  

Harry hesitantly said, "I don't know the password.  Can you let me in anyway, seeing as I'm the only Griffindor here . . ."

"I'm sorry, child.  It's against school policy.  I can only let you in if you tell me the appropriate password."

"I don't suppose you could just tell me the password?"

The Fat Lady stared reprovingly at the boy.

"All right.  Is there any way for me to get the password?"

"Your prefect should have given it to you."

"Er . . . It's the holiday.  There aren't any prefects here."

"Then you'll have to ask your Head of House."

"Oh.  Er, do you know where she could be?"

"What do I look like?  I don't keep track of you people!"  Harry left as the Fat Lady began her tirade.  "Honestly, with students barging in at all hours and slamming my frame, it's a miracle that . . ."

'This is going to be a long night.'

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry trudged his way through the main corridors, hoping to come across a professor.  He had been wandering for at least twenty minutes, and no such luck.  'Come on . . .'

"Potter!" 

Harry spun around.  He wanted to find someone who could help him.  He did not want to be scared out of his wits.  "Yes, Professor?"

"What, pray tell, are you doing?  I should think you'd be in your common room." Snape sneered.

_A scream.  Then silence._

_"How do like it, my pet?"  A high-pitched voice chuckled.  "There is always more where that came from."_

_A man shivered on the stone floor.  Bizarre implements and tools adorned the walls of the medium sized square room.  Two such implements where held by the one who was standing.  _

_The man on the floor had one imbedded in his left hip._

Harry stood frozen for a moment, blinked, and then launched into an explanation.  "Well you see sir, I don't know the password into my dorm.  I'm looking for Professor McGon—"

"Wandering the corridors without permission, Potter?  I'm sure you have a better explanation than that.  Lockhart was to tell you . . . " Snape paused, and Harry stared.  "This way, Potter."

_Blood was on the ceiling._

_"Stop fighting me and this will end."_

_Silence.  Then a groan.  "_Accio_—"_

"Hurry up, Potter."  Snape snapped.  Harry focused on the walk.

Two lefts, a hidden passage, and a right later, they arrived at an innocuous floor cabinet, the kind Filch used to store his cleaning supplies.  It was a dull gray, and would not have looked out of place in a muggle office building.  Snape walked up to the cabinet, stood a little straighter, then proclaimed, "Catnip."

'Catnip?'  Harry began to wonder if the Professor was feeling all right, then saw that the cabinet was growing.  When it had enlarged to the size of a standard door, Snape rapped his knuckles smartly against it, paused, and knocked again.

They stood in front of the oversized cabinet for a minute, and Harry was curious about Snape's actions.  He was about to ask when he received his answer.

"Severus!  What is the meaning of this?"  And out came Professor McGonagall, dressed in a fluffy blue bathrobe and a hairnet.  She didn't look especially tired.  When she caught sight of Harry, her frown actually increased.  "Mr. Potter, what are you doing here?"

"Er . . ."

"It seems that Lockhart" Snape appeared to be disgusted with the man's very name, "neglected to give Mr. Potter the password into the Griffindor common rooms."

McGonagall nodded in understanding.  She turned to Harry.  "Fiddlesticks."

"Professor?"

"The password.  Fiddlesticks."

"Oh . . . Thank you, Professor."

"Good night Potter, Severus."  She went back into her cabinet, which returned to its original size, a lock of her hair coming out of its net.

"I trust you can find your way back." Snape said, looking as though he thought Harry incapable of any such thing.

"Yes, Professor."

"Good."  Snape stalked off to do whatever it was that he did on summer nights, leaving Harry alone.

Harry worked his way back to the hidden passage, only to find that it had moved.  He sighed, then murmured, "Great.  Just great."  He began his long walk back towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.  This was going to take a while.

A small shadow trotted its way around the corner.  It slowed when it saw the boy, and followed him silently.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Fiddlesticks."

The portrait swung open with a slight creak.  Upon entering the common room, Harry sighed in relief.  The common room looked downright cozy, even though there wasn't a fire in the fireplace.  Then again, it was the middle of July.  A fire would make such a red room stifling hot.

Harry climbed the stairs to the sixth year boy's dormitory.  Presumably, that would be where he'd be expected to sleep.  'If it isn't, McGonagall will tell me in the morning.'

He opened the dorm door and saw the five beds.  A change of clothes later, Harry slid under the covers of what he thought was his bed.  He sighed "Finally!" and allowed his mind to drift to sleep.  It only took a couple of minutes.

The one watching the portrait of the Fat Lady sat in the shadows for about half an hour, then left.

There were other places to watch.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Over the next four days, Harry developed the habit of wandering the halls in the morning, then going to the kitchens for lunch, working on summer homework in the afternoon, and then doing whatever it was he felt like for the rest of the day.  He could not have felt any more bored.  He even went to bed early because there was nothing to do.

Harry stood upon completing his Divination assignment.  He was to define the meaning of astrology in a ten-inch essay using references from the text.  Then he was to use the information in the essay to predict the actions of five famous people.  And these five people had to be both alive and members of the wizarding world.

"Glad that's done." Harry grumbled.  He didn't know how students living with muggles, like he had been, were supposed to complete the assignment.  After all, it's not as if they could just turn on the radio and listen to WWN for information on singers and celebrities.  Information about the wizarding world didn't come easily in the world of the muggles.  So how else were students supposed to discover the birth dates of famous people?

Harry opted to leave his finished assignment on the table.  Since he was the only one in the dorms, he though the parchments and books would survive just fine without his constant presence.  Stretching, he opened the portrait and left.

As he wandered through the corridors of Hogwarts, Harry wondered what exactly he would be doing with himself for the rest of the summer.  He didn't consider boredom a viable choice.

Harry walked into Professor Flitwick as he wandered closer to the Great Hall.  "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor.  I guess I wasn't watching where I was going.  I'm sorry."

"That's all right, Potter."  Harry helped the diminutive professor stand up, then helped collect all the books and parchment on the floor.  The stack that Flitwick had been carrying was taller than him, and Harry hadn't been paying any attention to his surroundings, so their collision wasn't all that surprising.

"Oh, no . . ." the tiny wizard squeaked.  With a sigh, he gathered all the parchments they could find and made a small stack.  He then started organizing the books into their own stack.

"Can I help you, sir?"  

"Hmm?  Oh.  Could you hand me the larger books please?"

Harry did so and helped Flitwick stack the books, biggest to smallest, on the floor.  Flitwick picked up the parchments and pointed his wand at the books.  "Thank you, Harry.  _Wingardium leviosa_."

The professor continued on his way, keeping the levitating stack on his right so that he could see anyone else coming. 

Harry continued on his walk.

A pair of eyes followed his every move.

As Harry strolled into the Great Hall, a tall man in billowing black robes glided his way out the doors, not sparing the boy a glance.  Harry turned to blink at the retreating figure.

A dirty, ragged, underfed man lay sobbing on the stone floor.  He had no shoes, and his bloodstained robes barely covered his body.  His black hair was matted, and his fingernails were torn.  He didn't even move when another man with a silver arm entered the room.

_The second man shook as he left a bowl of some lumpy gray substance on the floor near the sobbing figure.  Then he ran out of the room and slammed the door.  The man on the floor didn't get up, but he did stop crying when he heard the lock turn._

_He looked at the bowl, then placed his head on the floor.  Severus Snape was a wreck._

_He blinked slowly, but did nothing else._

Harry stood rubbing his scar for several minutes before he decided to keep moving.  This decision was accentuated by the sound of Lockhart's voice.  Harry had no desire to be anywhere near that man.

He barely managed to get away in time.

A small figure glared at the loud blond, then followed Harry.


	4. Fireflies

It's a new chappie!  Oh, and thank you, my glorious reviewers!

**Black Rose**: I don't know how I got the italics in.  And I'm using Word! *casts _incendio_ on the screen* It doesn't work all the time.  Just look at Hermione's letter in the first chapter!  Can characters leave their paintings?  Hmm.  Ya gotta keep readin'!

**kateydidnt**: Just wait and see!

**Baroness Jumping Rain; Sidda**: Fun name!

Lord R 

**Els-chan**

**t.a.g.**: Harry will have to decide.  I'm just writing his actions.  Yes, Severus is fascinating, isn't he?  In the books he's just another hateable (is that a word?) character, but when I read fanfics about him I became an addict. *blushes*

Someone reading: You'll figure it out.  I promise.

**Sati**: Thankx.

Thank you, Thank you!  I love praise!  But can anyone figure out why my spell-check tries to screw up my work every time?  It's getting old!

Oh, and for those who say I don't sound British, I'm not.  I've never been to the UK.  So there are going to be minor grammatical issues . . . I'm sorry if this offends you in any way.

By the by . . . sorry for taking so long with this.  I'm lazy! ^_^

Disclaimer:  If I owned Harry Potter, don't you think I'd be getting paid for this fanfic?  Sheesh . . .

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me . . ." Harry sang to himself as he walked.  "Happy birthday dear me-e, happy birthday to meeeeeeeee."  That morning, Professor McGonagall had sent him his yearly letter, envelope and all.  Why she didn't just hand him a list of supplies baffled him.  It just seemed like a waste of parchment.

Harry had remained awake the previous evening.  He had wanted to continue his tradition of opening his birthday presents just after midnight.  As a result, he was a little tipsy the following day.

Ron had sent Pig with an orb that flashed different colors at random intervals.  Apparently, such items were all the rage in the wizarding world.  Also, the accompanying letter described in great detail the lengths Mrs. Weasley was willing to take in order for Harry to spend in the Burrow. 

The twins, Fred and George Weasley, had sent samples of their latest pranks, along with a letter asking for ideas and concepts for their new "Lightning" line of products.  Harry didn't intend to send Errol anywhere for the next week or so.

Hermoine, being Hermione, sent a book on bizarre jinxes and hexes, along with the textbook she had borrowed.  Harry had grinned at the reminder of all the curses and hexes he had researched the previous year for the tournament.

Harry had finally gone to sleep at around one that morning.  Now he was in front of the office door.  He took a deep breath, knocked, and entered.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter.  The floo powder is on the mantle."  McGonagall nodded sternly at the fireplace and returned to whatever was on her desk.  The fire was burning merrily, causing the room to become stiflingly hot.  Harry took a quick look around her office.  The walls were wooden, and there were moving photos of graduated students all along the walls.  If the sheer number of pictures were any indication, she had been teaching for about fifty years.  The furniture looked foreboding.

Harry stuffed his fingers into the indicated container on the mantle, took out a pinch of floo powder, and tossed it into the flames.  "Diagon Alley!"

Harry stepped into the fireplace and shut his eyes.  His previous experiences with floo powder had been rather unpleasant, and he preferred not to watch random fireplaces sweep by.  The trip was quite sickening enough as it was.

Harry was suddenly spit out of a fireplace.  He had arrived at Diagon Alley.  He stumbled quickly out of the way in case someone else was about to floo to the same fireplace.  Once out of range, Harry dusted himself off, wiped his glasses, and jogged his way through the crowd to get to Gringotts, the wizarding bank.  He would need more wizarding gold in order to purchase all of his supplies.

He had missed the sight of Diagon Alley.  There were venders selling their wares, and shoppers choosing from among them.  Harry distinctly heard one wizard shout out, "Pig feathers, ten for a knut!"

On his way, he passed two students from his year.  Justin Finch-Fletchley was entering the apothecary, probably to refill his potions making kit.  Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, was searching for his missing toad in front of the pet shop, Magical Menagerie.  Harry trotted by before he could be roped into helping with the search.

Harry entered Gringotts and worked his way to the counter.  "I would like to make a withdrawal."

The goblin didn't look impressed.  "Name."

"Harry Potter."

"Key."

Harry handed over the key to his vault.  The goblin inspected it minutely.  "Everything seems in order."  He handed the key to a second goblin.  "Longhand will take you to your vault."

Longhand was a medium sized goblin with few identifying features about him, although he _did_ have rather long fingers.

Longhand gave a mocking bow, and gestured for Harry to follow.  They got into a cart, and traveled deep under the bank.  Harry always enjoyed this part of the Gringotts experience.  He loved the roller coaster feel of the almost out of control cart, and the stalagmites and stalactites were quite breathtaking—when they weren't going to decapitate him.  By the time the cart came to a stop, Harry was grinning like mad.

Longhand opened the vault, exposing its contents.  There were piles of gold galleons, stacks of silver sickles, and mountains of copper knuts.  A small fortune was held within the vault.  Harry strode in and filled his moneybag with an appropriate amount, keeping in mind that it had to last.  After all, he had to make it through graduation before he could even think of getting a job.

The return trip was just as exciting and enjoyable as the first.  Harry got out of the cart, waved farewell to Longhand, and left the bank on quivering legs.  'Maybe I don't like the rides . . .'

First, he went to Madam Malkins for a set of new school robes.  Harry had grown a bit over the past year, although he was far from tall.  He entered the shop.

"Hogwarts, dear?"  A frazzled looking woman pulled Harry onto a stand and took his measurements so she could prepare his order.  As she finished, a pair of Slytherins entered the shop.  He sped through paying for his new robes and left before Crabbe and Goyle could really notice of his presence.  Just because they were immensely stupid was no reason to take chances.  Their fathers were Deatheaters, and could arrive at any moment.

That would not be pleasant.

Despite many common rumors, Harry did not have a death wish.  He was perfectly happy being alive, and planned on staying that way.

Next, Harry went to the apothecary to refill his potions supplies, much as Finch-Fletchley had done earlier.  He made sure to purchase a double amount of squirrel tongue.  He had looked through the list of potions they would be making that year, and squirrel tongue had shown up on ingredient lists repeatedly.

After filling his potions kit, Harry entered Flourish and Blots.  Upon taking out his list, he saw he needed _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five_, _Mystic Standards_, and_ Fireflies and Demons: A Text on Practical Defense_.  He blinked.  It seemed that his Divinations professor, Trelawney, felt the need for a new textbook.  He shrugged it off, remembering that they had more or less finished the last one.

'_Fireflies and Demons _. . .' He wondered who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was going to be that year.  They had already had a two-faced man, a moron, a werewolf, and a Deatheater.  Harry hoped for a normal year, with a reasonably normal set of professors.  He shook his head as he gathered the textbooks, acknowledging the fact that his life was anything but normal.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry froze, then turned his head cautiously, hoping that he had mistaken the voice.  "Hello, Collin."

"Whatcha doin'?  Do you know who's the new Defense professor?  I hope whoever it is will be as good as Professor Moody.  Does You-Know-Who know you're here?  Does Dumbledore?  Can I take your picture?"  This was said in a rush, and it took Harry a moment to decipher the last question.  Of course, by then Collin Creevy had already taken the shot.  "Thanks, Harry!"

"Hey, Collin!  Where are ya'?"

"Right here, Dennis!" he shouted back.

Harry snuck away while Collin told his brother about the picture he had taken of the Boy-Who-Lived.  Now paying more attention to those around him, Harry paid for his textbooks and left the store.

A man and a boy, both blond, entered the store.

Upon his return to Hogwarts, Harry sighed in relief.  He got away from the Creevy brothers with only a single photo taken of him.  Now he just had to get his things to his dorm.

With a second sigh, he hefted his bags, and strode through the building towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The one who had watched him arrive back at the school got up, stretched, and slunk further into the castle.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Has anyone else noticed how oblivious Harry is in this story?


End file.
